


Filling in the Blanks

by mindmeetspaper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Eileen Leahy, Canon Compliant, Castiel Deserves Better (Supernatural), Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Character Study, Confessions, Dean Winchester Deserves Better, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Episode: s15e20 Carry On, F/M, Family Reunions, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Heaven, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Married Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series Finale, Reunions, Sam Winchester Deserves to be Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28063698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindmeetspaper/pseuds/mindmeetspaper
Summary: We all know how the CliffNotes/SparkNotes version of the series finale, but what about the bits in between?(or how the author decided to take the actual scenes from the final episode and flesh them out into a narrative that is easier to swallow)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	1. Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> It's almost been a month since Supernatural aired its final episode. There's been a lot of outrage and heated arguments within the fandom about the long-awaited finale. Lots of us feel betrayed, many feel hurt, and then there are those who were satisfied with the way it wrapped up.
> 
> While I personally disliked the dumpster fire the was the series finale, I can understand/see why other people accepted the way the show closed. I don't like it, but sadly it is what it is.
> 
> So rather than completely changing the ending we were given, I decided to work with it by filling in the gaps, tying up some loose ends, and hopefully create an ending that satisfies both sides, and maybe providing us all some sense of closure.
> 
> The first part focuses on Sam and his time on Earth. The second part will focus on Dean getting some closure in Heaven. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It’s dark out when Sam Winchester puts the Impala in park.

He doesn’t know what time it is or the name of the street he’s currently pulled over on. He’s not even sure he knows how long he’s been behind the wheel of the car, but judging by the aching cramp in his hands, he hasn’t let go of the steering wheel for hours. His hunter’s instincts kicked into autopilot to assess his current situation: he’s not covered in blood, he’s aware of his surroundings, he doesn’t smell sulphur in the car cabin or hear a jeering voice in his head, and his anti-possession sigil tattoo on his chest is still intact. He firmly concludes that he wasn’t possessed by a demon.

Miracle made a low whine from the back seat. Sam looked up at the rear-view mirror and saw the dog had made himself comfortable on the leather seats. 

His mouth twitched into a weary smile. Definitely not a demon possession then.

He settled back into his seat, trying to ease the cramp out of his right hand by flexing his long fingers and massaging the palm with his opposite thumb in deep, slow circles to get the blood flowing. The last thing he really remembered was watching the last of the high amber flames dying out into flickers of orange and red as the funeral pyre was reduced to nothing more than a pile of glowing embers and smoking ash. After that, it’s all just a collection of vague flashes. Putting out the last, stubborn cinders just like he was taught, to avoid risking a forest fire. Making his way back to the Impala alone. The Otterhound bopping his hand with his cold, wet nose, politely asking for a head scratch. Gripping the steering wheel but not turning the key in the ignition. Filling up at a modern gas station and handing some underpaid student a few crinkled bills. Lights flashing in his peripheral; whites, yellows, reds and dissonant blues, fading away in the distance. 

He stared at the car dash and compelled his brain to remember how to read an analog clock. The little red hands inform him it’s a brush after 9.

Four hours.

He had been blindly driving around on busy interstate roads for four hours. The revelation should have scared him. 

By some miracle (or more likely his Hero’s Fortune, he reminds himself) he had arrived unscathed at his destination. Now that he had determined the “How he got Here”, logic dictated that he should figure out the “Where Here was”. Sam scanned the neighbourhood to get his bearings, and his breath hitched once he recognized the small, suburban home he had parked in front of.

Eileen’s.

Sam exited the car and looked at the property with a worrying sense of deja-vu. The last time he had pulled up in front of her house he had also been in a state of blind panic. Sure, Dean had been driving that night, but Sam was about as conscious of his surroundings then as he had been moments ago. 

He hardly noticed that his legs had taken over his motor functions until he was already walking up her driveway at a brisk pace. Sam could hear the keening whine and sharp clicking taps on the windows behind him as he walked away, leaving the dog behind inside the Impala. He wasn’t certain that he’d closed the driver’s door behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and check. A tremor of dread slid through him with an icy chill, locking up his stomach and leaving his mind worryingly numb. His legs felt heavier with every step as memories of the last time he had run to Eileen came flooding back in urgency. 

_Stumbling out of the Impala under the streetlamp. Looking up at the oppressive dark windows staring back at him. A general sense of wrongness everywhere, telling him to turn away. His heart sinking perilously as he finds her discarded travel bag waiting for him, telling him that his gut instinct had been right. Reaching out and hesitantly picking up her cracked phone from the cold sidewalk and seeing “2 unread messages” mocking him from the home screen. She was just gone. The person who had made his life feel right again._

_She was gone and it was all his fault._

_Trying to hold himself together while his mind plays his distress on a loop, ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen- this wasn’t supposed to happen- oh god why did it have to be Eileen?’ while just trying to breathe-_

There’s a horrible, sinking conviction in his gut that no one will be there when he rings the doorbell now. That Eileen will be gone again, taken from him, just like Dean. 

_‘Please.’_ He begs, increasing his stride as he nears the front door. _‘Please prove me wrong.’_

He jabs the bell frantically and hears the loud chiming resonate inside the house, the strobe light also flashing on the other side of the door. Sam took a step back, his hazel eyes checking the upper windows for any signs of life. With his heart beating a frantic staccato, Sam almost misses the faint glow of the hallway light beyond the dark windows. As he starts getting his breathing under control, his eyes pick out other signs of life in the house, like the warm glow peeking through the living room blinds. Then, the quiet clicking of a latch and a subtle groan from the door being forced open. His elevated heartbeat begins to subside.

Still, it isn’t until he actually sees Eileen grinning at him from the doorway that Sam is convinced she is really there. 

“Sam!” she cries out, a warm smile spreading across her face at his sudden appearance. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming. Must have missed your message.”

Sam regarded the female hunter solemnly. His lungs felt heavy while his mind raced around frantically. Eileen reached out to him and instinctively clasped his massive hand in her smaller one, feeling his normally steady grasp shaking gently beneath her affectionate touch. His nerves tingling at the harsh comfort of contact.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, using her free hand to sign while she spoke. “Dean said you were looking into some missing kids-”

The brunette woman stops herself suddenly, sensing the pervasive wrongness of the situation. 

“Sam,” she resumes, approaching him cautiously, “where’s Dean?”

Somewhere down the street, a couple of teens sauntered back into their homes, grumbling indistinctly. Elsewhere, a car pulled into a driveway, the owner getting ready to turn in for the night. 

It seemed wrong that life should continue on as normal while Dean’s fresh ashes lay scattered along the forest floor.

But at that moment, none of it mattered to Sam Winchester. He looked into Eileen’s alarmed brown eyes and admitted the truth he had been running away from for the last four hours.

“Dean’s dead.”

* * *

It had been a few days since Sam showed up at Eileen’s front door with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He doesn’t remember much after he crumpled into her arms and wept into her shoulder, silently screaming into her damp flannel shirt, and suffocating with each breath he took. Just that he woke up with her arms still around him. 

Miracle had immediately made himself at home and took to laying in wait by Eileen's front door, leaving his post only to relieve himself in the front lawn shrubbery before dutifully returning. All day long, he laid there with big, dark eyes, head cocked on his paws, clearly listening for Dean’s familiar gait, waiting patiently for his best friend to come back. Even though Sam had tried to call him away, bribing him with treats, neither he nor Eileen had the heart to move him.

Sam found himself staying in her home while he placed phone calls, making arrangements for Dean’s funeral while he grew numb to the endless sympathies and condolences sent through the phone. Donna had taken the news pretty hard, immediately insisting she should drive over from Stillwater to help him. Jody had taken it in stride, probably holding herself together for his sake. 

If it hadn’t been for Eileen, Sam wasn’t sure he would have been able to hold it together himself either.

After taking him in and retrieving his things from the car, letting the frantic dog out of the back seat and locking up Baby behind her, Eileen made sure that Sam ate and took breaks between phone calls. She didn’t even hesitate to snatch the phone out of his hands and take over the conversation the moment Sam looked spent. She brushed away his concerns with a subtle head shake and made the sign for “it’s fine” when he tried to apologize.

“Don’t worry about it, Sam. I’m here for you.”

A few people were concerned when Sam told them there wouldn’t be a funeral pyre before the gathering, but he quickly straightened them out. This wasn’t like last time when Dean had been killed by one of Lilith’s hellhounds and Sam had been convinced he could bring his brother back.

He informed them that he had already burned Dean’s body himself. After everything the brothers had been through together, it didn’t seem right to have anyone else around. He wanted to do it alone. 

Still, he invited all the hunters and friends to a gathering at the Bunker. Open bar, potluck feast, a Spotify playlist of Sabbath covers playing in the background. Just like Dean had asked for all those years ago. He drew the line at calling up Gary Busey and asking him to read a eulogy, though. 

There was very little to suggest this was anything but a social event.

“In remembrance,” he tells them, and not in mourning, because Dean wouldn't have wanted them to get all emotional over him.

In the Bunker, Sam stood alone at the side of the room, nursing a beer and observing the life around him. The mingling sounds of laughter, idle chatter, and a few shed tears bounced off the thick Bunker walls. He maps out familiar faces and the not-so familiar ones as people wander around, sharing their favourite hunting stories about Dean or arguing amongst themselves whether or not Dean Winchester had _actually_ killed Hitler, or whether it was just all just a technicality. 

He spies Eileen by the war room table chatting away amicably with Garth and his wife Bess, the three of them having got on almost instantly in a discussion about ASL and Baby Sign Language…which was a thing, apparently. Bess stood holding baby Cas to her hip while Garth rocked baby Sam in his carrier on the table. Or maybe it was the other way around; Sam honestly couldn’t tell which one was which. The sight of this happy family standing together, alive, laughing, made a deep part of him ache. 

Eileen seemed to sense that she was being watched and caught sight of him across the room. She says something that makes Garth laugh so hard he accidentally startles the baby werewolf in the carrier. As the parents rush into damage control mode, Eileen meets Sam’s gaze and smiles at him. 

“Are you okay?” She signs.

“Fine.” He signs back with a tired smile. “Better with you here.”

“I know,” she tells him cheekily, her lips turned up in a playful smirk. 

Before he can reply back, Garth is getting her attention and seamlessly drawing her back into conversation. He wouldn’t be surprised if by the end of the night Garth decided to name his next potential child after her in some way.

Sam spotted a few more familiar faces as the night wore on; stopping to chat with Jody’s girls and hearing about Kaia’s first vamp kill, running into Bobby and sharing some short words of sympathy, even getting an opportunity to properly meet Charlie’s Stevie in an info-swap huddle. Eventually though, Sam ran out of excuses and knew he couldn't put it off any longer. 

It was time for him to give the eulogy.

Sam stood awkwardly on the top step of the library, looking down at the party and clearing his throat. The cacophony of voices began to taper off into profound silence as all eyes fell upon him.

“I don’t know about you, but I honestly never thought I’d be standing here giving this speech. Dean died, or nearly died, so often it was his version of having the flu.” A couple of people chuckled politely, most of them responding with amused sideways grins. “No, but really, I watched my brother fight his way out of difficult situations, more than anyone should have to deal with in their lifetime. It wasn’t always easy or painless, and sometimes things ended ugly, but somehow Dean always managed to get back up. To know that he won’t be gearing up for any more hunts together is...well, it feels wrong.”

Everyone in the room watched him with rapt attention as he shifted under their sympathetic gazes, running a hand through his long locks and tugging at the ends in a nervous tick.

“A part of me keeps thinking he’ll walk in at any moment, all bow-legged and obnoxious, cracking open a beer with a smile and loudly joking about having to crash his own funeral.” A light-hearted laughter flowed through the crowd of hunters, some nodding along that yeah, that sounded like something Dean Winchester would do. 

“Hunter funerals are something we’re unfortunately all too familiar with. We’ve lost a lot of good people throughout our years on the road…friends we couldn’t save or people who ran out of luck. And while it isn’t an easy life, Dean embraced it with everything he had because he believed it all made a difference. Saving people, hunting things.” Sam chuckled fondly. “Anyone who hunted with my brother could vouch for his abilities and skills against every kind of monster the world could spit out. Even if you had never hunted with Dean before, you knew you were in safe hands, because Dean Winchester had your back.”

There were low murmurs of agreement within the group. Claire’s young face stood amongst the crowd in front of him, her pale hand clutching Kaia’s shoulder and holding back tears, stubbornly refusing to cry. Donna and Jody stood nearby, watching Sam with warm, maternal smiles and a little a bit misty-eyed. Garth stood in the back, smiling fondly, no doubt remembering the good times and wacky adventures he had with Dean. Next to Garth, Bobby, Charlie, and the other survivors from Apocalypse World had their heads bowed respectfully for the man who had fought tooth and nail for their safety and new refuge. 

There wasn’t a single person within the Bunker walls who hadn’t experienced how loyal and caring Dean had been, and it made his loss all the more tougher to swallow.

Sam swallows thickly and blinks away his tears. There would be a time to mourn when everyone had gone their separate ways, but now it was time to say goodbye. He raised his beer to the crowd.

“To Dean. The greatest older brother I could ask for, and one of the damn best hunters that ever lived.”

He couldn’t help wonder how Dean would have felt, seeing for himself how much he had meant to these people. How his influence (and, Sam supposed, the rumours that spread amongst the hunting community probably helped with Dean’s popularity) had brought together this group of diverse people into a family. Their family.

As the dense crowd of hunters shouted “To Dean Winchester!” in unison, raising their drinks in the air, Sam desperately wished Dean was alive to see this moment. Witnessing all these hunters and friends from all over the country coming together to commemorate his life. Proving that family didn’t end in blood.

Proving that Dean Winchester had made a difference in the world.  
  


* * *

“You sure you’re not going to change your mind?”

“I’m sure.”

“Seriously, I’m going to be pissed if you show up here in a week and decide you’ve had a change of heart, old man.”

Sam snorts. “Old man? Really?”

Claire flashed the taller hunter an impudent smirk. The two of them stood solemnly outside the Bunker’s doors while Alex and Jody started to load boxes from Jody’s pickup into their arms. Inside, Patience and Kaia were setting up shop for the girls and getting the lay of the land. The blonde hunter was wearing her favourite leather jacket despite the frosty November temperature, hands balled into fists and shoved defiantly into her pockets. Dry, fallen leaves crinkled underfoot as the two of them shifted incessantly to keep warm under the late autumn chill.

“But seriously Sam are you sure about this? Giving up the key to _The Bunker_?”

“Positive,” he says, “why does it feel like this should be a bigger deal than it is?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re giving away the keys to your super secret boys’ club, but eh,” the blonde girl shrugs, “no biggie.”

“Yeah well, maybe that’s exactly why you guys should have it,” he replies soberly. He holds up a beautiful lacquered box for Claire to see. 

“Our grandfather left this for Dean and me to find the Men of Letters Bunker and restore the order to its former glory. For years it was a place for just the two of us. A kind of sanctuary. But it always felt a little empty, even before Dean…” he trailed off. It still hurt to say the words out loud. “But the truth is, the Bunker is more than just a safe place to crash. It’s a homebase, meant to be lived in by a team of people. Full of activity and life. It’s time that it went back to what it was built for. Besides, the place could use a change.”

“Change...like turning it into a Sorority house for badass bitches?”

“Girls’ club, boys’ club, whatever you want. Just as long as it’s being lived in and used to help people who need it,” he smiles, holding out the lacquer box for the young hunter to take.

Sam knew this day had been coming. Truth be told, the Bunker had never quite been a home to Sam as it had to Dean. Dean had never had the luxury of staying in one place, much less a place that offered enough safety and security for him to unwind. To Dean, that had been the very definition of a home.

But Sam had already experienced what a home felt like. He had made one all those years ago at Stanford. It was more than just a roof over your head and the feeling that you could sleep safely at night. A home was a warm place, filled with people you cared about and wanted to look after.

For a while, living in the Bunker with Dean had been one of the best experiences he shared with his brother. It was, as Claire had pointed out, a secret boys’ club for just the two of them. And then Kevin came along and made the place a little more exciting. Then there was Cas, choosing to stay with the Winchesters even after he recovered his Grace. Then Mary, and Jack, and eventually the refugees from Apocalypse World. Even when it went back to being just the two of them, the Men of Letters Bunker had a way of making Sam feel like a welcomed guest, but nothing more than that. 

Then when Dean left, he took all the warmth of the place with him.

Their time living there may have been brief, but they were some of the best years of Sam’s life by far. Now he couldn’t stand to be in it anymore. It was too much to handle alone. 

After the funeral, Eileen had visited more and more often as the months went by and Sam’s love for her had only grown deeper. Loving Eileen was uncomplicated, easy, and filled Sam with a deep sense of happiness, something that he didn’t think he would get to experience again. 

So gave himself permission to be happy again. He let himself fall in love.

They had talked, but he ultimately decided against asking her to move into the Bunker with him. Too much of Dean was still in there. Too many memories of their time together haunted him along the empty hallowed halls like a ghost.

God, he hopes that Dean hadn't become a ghost. 

Mind made up, Sam packed up the Bunker and called up the first person he knew that would be able to make good use of the place. 

Claire hesitantly takes the box, turning it over absentmindedly in her hands.

“You know, Jody still disapproves of the whole idea. All the way here, she kept going on and on about us being out in the middle of nowhere, and that Lebanon was a long way from Sioux Falls, blah blah, are we really old enough to be living by ourselves. The usual.”

“Yeah well, Jody cares about your safety. It’s called being a mom.”

“Yeah yeah, I know…” she casually rolled her eyes at Sam’s cheesy response before checking to make sure Jody was out of earshot. “Between you and me...I don’t think she’s ready to be an empty nester yet.”

Sam grins knowingly, “You sure she’s the only one?”

The blonde scowled at him, but it was all for show.

“This is your last chance to change your mind, you know. Once you leave it’s going to belong to the Wayward Sisters.”

Sam took a few steps towards her and clapped a firm hand over her narrow shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

If anyone could turn the Bunker into a home, it was Jody’s girls.

“I’m counting on it.”

He made his way back towards the garage entrance where Miracle was waiting for him inside the Impala, the heater running idly to keep the cabin warm. He didn’t have a lot to take with him; some clothes, the last of his weapons, a few keepsakes from their travels, and a box marked “Dean”.

“Hey.” She called out to him before he could lift the door handle.

Sam turned from the Impala to look at her.

“Don’t be a stranger, old man.” She tells him, grinning mischievously.

They smiled at each other from across the way until Sam raised his arm in farewell, sliding into the vehicle and putting her in drive.

* * *

Their wedding had been a small affair in their backyard with Garth presiding over the ceremony. On top of running a successful dentistry in his basement for compliant monsters and hunters alike, being an active part of his local community, keeping up with 3 actively growing werewolf kids and co-owning a mortgage-free property with the woman he loves while being a semi-retired hunter, Garth had somehow found the time to get a wedding officiant license on top of all that.

“You never know when someone might need it!” he smiled cheerfully as Sam stared dumbfounded at his scraggy friend. 

This had proved to be the best solution for a number of reasons. For one, Garth and Bess turned out to be first-rate wedding planners and took care of most of the details. The only time Sam really had to step in was to politely decline their more... adventurously-themed suggestions based on their favourite book series (and Sam used that term very lightly). It was also, he realized, easier than showing up at city hall and explaining to the minister why Samuel William Winchester was wanted for several counts of mass muder, treason, possession of illegal firearms, credit card fraud, kidnapping and endangering an ex-President of The United States, and was considered legally dead by the United States census…three times. 

The ceremony itself was very homely and small with a few close hunter friends to witness their union. Bobby showed up with a bottle of top-shelf scotch and a firm pat on the back. Donna and Jody rode down together with the girls with food and endless hugs for both of them. Gertie, Kid Sam and Kid Cas took an immediate liking to Claire and her princess hair, much to her annoyance. Patience, being the only one with any real experience handling kids, came to her aid and wrangled the kids into some fun activities. Before the night was over the kids were curled up at her side, sleeping soundly.

The most surprising moment was when a certain redhead ex-witch made her presence known.

“This is quite the party, Samuel. And here I thought you Winchesters didn’t know how to have a good time!”

Sam had been leaning against the side of the house, looking out into the expansive backyard he and Eileen had paid a hefty amount to call their own when he heard her familiar Scottish drawl beside him. He startled, nearly spilling his drink as he turned to face her.

“Rowena?”

“What’s with that expression now, boy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” she teased, her honeyed tone implicitly matching her stunning red pantsuit. Despite her slim and susceptible appearance, Rowena radiated a power and confidence that nearly toppled Sam over.

“No no, it’s...great to see you again, Rowena.” he stammered, “I just didn’t think we would be crossing paths again, now that you’re running Hell and everything.”

Her red lips softened into an affectionate smile, “Yes well, I always did have a soft spot for ya, eh?” she teased, pinching his cheek fondly. “I heard that you were throwing a bit of a celebration and figured it was high time we chatted.”

“But what about the demons? Last time Dean and I were in Hell, they were talking about an uprising…”

“Oh, and about time too!”

Sam blinked at her, confused.

“Nothing like a little uprising to keep me on my toes. Putting demons in their place, now there’s a great way to spend an afternoon! I do so despise being inactive for long.” She lamented, sipping delicately at a flute of champagne Sam was absolutely certain they had not provided. He chuckled softly.

“That does sound like you.”

Looking satisfied, she nodded over his shoulder, “So that’s the one, eh? The lucky girl that got the great Sam Winchester to settle down for good. Formidable feat, that.”

Sam followed her gaze and took another moment to appreciate his new wife, still dressed in a simple white gown that, to Sam, could have been made for royalty. Eileen was amicably chatting away with Donna and Jody, her brown locks tumbling down her back with a soft bounciness in them. He felt his face glowing with pride and smiled to himself.

“Yeah, she is.”

“Irish, was it?”

“She is, but she was raised by a hunter who moved around the country a lot, so she never really picked up one local dialect.”

“Never really cared much for the Irish myself,” Rowena sniffed, sipping her champagne. “A bunch of superstitious numpties, really. Always getting themselves in trouble with the wee fae folk and then blaming their misfortune on a harmless red-haired maiden passing through.”

“And you wouldn’t happen to have any experience with that, would you?”

“Of course not, Samuel. Not directly at least.” she implied slyly.

The two of them fell into a comfortable chat about the state of Hell and the effect of her “No Deals” policy up on Earth. Now that there were less demon deals to look out for, hunters were finding new ways to handle the hundreds of unemployed demons walking around.

Everything was going well until the conversation turned to the subject of Sam’s luck, finding such a wholesome spot to start a family of his own. The edges of his smile dipped down for half a second, but Rowena’s sharp eyes were still as impeccable as always.

“You may as well come out with it boy. What’s eating at you from the inside?”

He shook his head dismissively, “I don’t know...sometimes it feels like I don’t deserve to be so happy, you know? I just got lucky.”

Softly, she touched his arm. “Oh Sam…of course you do. What, just because Dean is gone, you’re not allowed to enjoy some moments of happiness? No,” she insisted, turning back to face the party, “your brother would raise quite a stink if he could hear you say that, and at your own wedding no less!” 

He grunted in amusement, but his shoulders still slumped forward. Rowena pursed her scarlet red lips together into a thin line and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Trust me, I know what I’m saying. I may have lived a very long life, but it was rarely a happy one. You need to cherish the moments you get to make, whether it be fortune of your own making or just dumb luck. After all, it is not the burden of the living to feel ashamed for existing and living a good life when their loved ones cannot.”

Sam grinned at her gratefully.

The party wore on, as most weddings do. There was dancing, letting Eileen smush cake into his face before kissing her with frosting-coated lips, and impromptu drunken speeches from their friends. About mid-way through the night, a couple of hunters started gently ribbing Sam about his alleged cursed dating life and jokingly warning Eileen to keep one eye open if she didn’t want to end up on the list of casualties.

“Hmm, did that. Twice.” She held up two fingers, levelling them with an apathetic gaze. “But it didn’t work out. So I guess that means he’s stuck with me.”

Sam could have kissed her right then and there if he hadn’t found exceptional enjoyment in watching those hardened, seasonal hunters sheepishly laugh and blunder away with their tails between their legs.

* * *

It was 4 in the morning when Sam first held what he considered to be a miracle.

Sam had withstood a lot of pain in his life. He had been torn into by Apocalypse vamps, had his fingernails removed by a sweet and plumpy woodland nymph named Mrs. Butters, tortured by literal Satan himself for over a century in the cage...he had been stabbed, shot, impaled, had his head bashed in more times than a football player, and had taken a herculean beating from God himself. And yet, somehow, all that paled in comparison to Eileen’s white-knuckled grip on his hand throughout her labor in the early hours of the morning.

Having said that, looking at the round pink face of their son wrapped up in a blue blanket made it all worth it. Judging by the way Eileen tiredly crossed her arms over her chest for the sign of “love”, she seemed to be of the same mind.

“He’s beautiful,” Sam tells her, signing with one hand as he does. “Like his mom. Beautiful and sleepy.” 

He doesn’t miss the soft crinkle at the corner of Eileen’s eyes as she smiles good-humouredly. It had been a rough 8 hours of active labour with lots of drawn out screaming, murderous Irish babbling, and calling the doctor who had refused her an epidural 3 hours into the process a few choice words in ASL that made Sam laugh. But like all obstacles she encountered, Eileen had stood her ground and fought her way to victory. Now she lay back on a heap of hospital pillows, her sweaty hair pushed out of her face and physically drained, and still she found the energy to smile.

Sam wasn’t sure he could love her more than he already did. But he did.

She waved a hand to get his attention before signing, “Everything is okay?” expectantly. There was a hint of worry in her question, something a new parent picks up and carries with them until their final breath.

“Yes, he’s healthy.” Sam replies slowly, not wanting to overwork his wife in her already exhausted state. “The doctors have a few more forms to fill out, but ultimately they said he’s okay.”

She nodded as she let the information sink in. “And is he…” she draws off before making two small rotations in front of her lips.

Sam smiled softly, knowing what she was asking. “As far as the doctors can tell, he has no hearing problems.”

Eileen nodded once and leaned back into her pillows as though the answer was irrelevant either way. It didn’t matter to them whether their child was “hearing” or not, he would still learn how to communicate with sign language alongside English. Still, behind her self-confidence Sam knew there had been moments when she had been nervous about “passing on” her hearing loss to their child, even if the chances were slim to none. Eileen knew better than anyone the ongoing challenges a person with hearing loss faced in a predominantly hearing society, hunter or not.

He understood where she was coming from, in a way. The thought of passing on Azazel’s curse, his latent special abilities, or even just painting an assumed target on his son’s back because the kid was born from Sam Winchester’s DNA had kept him up more nights than he could count. 

Most new fathers questioned their ability to raise a child without screwing it all up. Sam questioned his ability to keep his wife and child safe from the many supernatural enemies he and Dean had made in the last two decades and, more specifically, whether he could keep them safe from himself.

Now he was holding his son, so full of love and disbelief that this was all real, that this little human was a thing he and Eileen had made together, that he was actually a Father. This here, right now, was living proof that the broken, faulty, and cursed Sam Winchester had actually made something good.

That alone was a miracle to him. 

He just wished that Dean had been here to witness it too.

Eileen observed him from the hospital bed and somehow seemed to know where his mind had wandered to. 

“Go ahead,” she says, signing tiredly, “I understand what it means to you.”

“Eileen-“

“It’s a good name. Sturdy. Powerful. Short. Like his uncle.” She signed, grinning as Sam laughed. Most days it was hard to talk about his brother without sending him into a downward spiral of guilt. It was rough, but Sam was trying to move on. 

If Dean were checking in on them from the afterlife, Eileen trusted that he would let the short joke slide just this once. 

“He would be proud of you, Sam. I know he would be.”

The taller Winchester inhales sharply. He required a moment to separate his thoughts from his feelings. He knew without a doubt that if Dean were there, the man would be insufferable, loudly congratulating the tired new mom, slapping Sam on the back, calling for shots and declaring himself the best, fun uncle this kid could ever ask for. 

“Dean would have insisted that we name him after our father, but that just never seemed right to me…” he confessed to Eileen, not taking his eyes off his son. “I mean sure, he was always looking out for us in the end, even if he had a complicated way of showing it. But I don’t know…I guess I never considered naming my kids after our parents. It was Dean’s kind of thing, if he ever settled down properly. Mom and Dad were his heroes, not mine.”

He gently rocks the bundle in his arms, watching his son's tiny breaths as he sleeps soundlessly. A tiny pink fist was clenching open and close next to his face as though catching butterflies in his dreams. 

Or waiting to hold onto Sam’s ginormous fingers and never let go.

“I can’t promise there won’t be a lot of confusion in conversations.”

“That’s okay, we’ll work around it.” Eileen considered a moment before continuing, “Worse case, we just have to call him Junior.”

“Junior?” Sam mimics the sign, confirming. Eileen nodded and then sniggers at his expression.

“Okay, maybe not. We will figure it out together, Sam. You, me, and Dean.” She points to each of them in turn before forming the letter “F” and using her hands to trace the shape of an outward circle. _Family._

“But,” she held up a hand patiently and looked him dead in the eyes, “I get to name the next one.” she insists pointedly. Sam is, for lack of better words, taken by surprise by the insinuation but recovers quickly enough with a short guffaw.

“Oh, so…” he said leaning towards his wife, being mindful not to squish their newborn between their bodies, his tone teasing, “There’s going to be a next one?”

Eileen’s mouth quirked at the corners. She puts on an exaggerated show of considering his question, eyes shining mischievously. They share a smile and lighthearted chuckle together, foreheads touching as they take in the moment.

Sam breathed in deeply. 

“Thank you.”

* * *

A few years after Dean’s birth, Eileen took up hunting again despite Sam’s attempts to talk her out of it. He listed all the obvious reasons: they had a nice, settled life here in the suburbs, Dean was still growing and wouldn’t understand why his mother was suddenly missing, he was next to useless compared to her when it came to keeping their son happy, and anyway, there were plenty of new hunters cropping up all the time. She didn’t have to hunt.

This led to arguments. Arguments became fights that dragged on until the wee hours of the morning. This usually ended with Sam taking refuge on their cramped and lumpy couch that was definitely not designed with 6’4” husbands in mind. 

Sam knew he couldn’t stop her from hunting, but he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t see things from his perspective. They had a perfect out, a chance to give their son a normal life away from all the fighting and fear. But Eileen was stubborn, insisting she was doing it for their family, for families like theirs that had no way of defending themselves against things that wanted to hurt them. Their arguments often left her livid, hands flying as she spoke, accusing Sam of turning a blind eye to the people who needed him. Just because they stopped hunting didn’t mean the things that go bump in the night would leave them alone. 

Finally, one night he broke down in front of her.

_“I can’t lose you too!”_

That night he told Eileen everything. About Dean’s death, about the accident in the barn, and the hunts he tried to help with in the months that followed. The werewolf case in Texas that almost ended badly because he spaced out, dealing with a coven in Las Vegas turning tricks (and not the sexy kind) and almost developing a gambling problem, merely going through the motions until a series of hauntings in Nebraska lead him to right to Kevin Tran. 

How the sweet, unlucky kid had become a malicious spirit without a tether to burn and free him from his torment. 

How Sam had been the one to trap him in a permanent ring of salt and then walked away, listening to Kevin’s desperate screams and pleas as he left him alone, unable to watch the kid slowly succumb to his madness.

Failing to save the kid one final time.

That had been the last case Sam had handled before handing the keys of the Bunker over to Claire. He couldn’t bring himself to hunt after that.

And he told her about his dreams, the ones he used to have back when Dean had first yanked him out of Stanford and hauled him back into the life. It didn’t matter that it had been years since Sam had one of his prophetic visions, and even longer still since he watched Jessica burn on the ceiling of their apartment. He told her how he still laid awake every night Eileen was gone, feeling cold and alone, gasping for air. How he was terrified to close his eyes, convinced that he would see her death play out in front of him if he did.

He couldn’t lose her. Not again. Not after what happened to Dean.

That night, Eileen stayed with him on the couch.

In the days following, the two of them discussed how to move forward. They talked, really talked, putting their egos aside, and managed to come to an arrangement without escalating into another tear-stained brawl.

Sam wouldn’t stop Eileen from hunting and doing what she felt was the right. In turn, she’d turn down any cases that would take her out of state or seemed risky out of respect for Sam. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it helped ease the fear festering in his gut knowing she would never be too far for him to reach.

And so the years passed this way. Eileen would disappear for a few days, keeping in touch with her boys and letting Sam know she was okay. The dreams never came, but Sam never felt like he could breathe normally until Eileen was back in his arms again. 

The panic attacks came and went as they pleased. Some nights he lies curled into himself in a cold sweat with Eileen at his back, whispering comforting things with her soothing voice. Other times he finds himself sharply pulling over to the side of the freeway, clutching the steering wheel and trying to get his breathing under control.

Throughout it all, old hunter friends came by to visit whenever they were passing through town, always finding the Winchester house an open door for some down time and good company. 

It was also recognized amongst the Hunting Community that Sam was off limits. This was mostly followed out of respect for Dean and their legacy. He and Dean had done more than enough for the world, and they had also lost the most. Everyone unanimously agreed: Sam Winchester had earned his retirement. 

Sometimes younger, arrogant, and hopeful hunters would come to gawk at the Great Sam Winchester, often asking for advice on a rather nasty monster in hopes of building their reputation. He wouldn’t exactly turn them away, but he wouldn’t offer them anything more than research, a beer, and a well earned piece of advice to not jump into any battle they weren’t equipped for. If ever a hunter needed an extra hand, Eileen would be the one to offer it.

While this was going on, Sam had finally dug up his old school transcripts and applied at the local community college. On top of being a stay-at-home dad teaching his 6 year old basic math, working as a part-time student trying to earn his paralegal degree introduced Sam Winchester to a whole new level of hell. The courses were rough and he was wildly out of practice with the legal jargon, but he felt back in his element, reading court transcripts and writing essays while waiting to pick up Dean from school. 

Many times Eileen had come home from a successful hunt to the two of them sitting at the dining room table, heads deep in their homework, their meals cold and forgotten at their elbows.

By the time Dean entered middle-school, Sam had finally earned his paralegal degree.

It wasn’t a fancy Stanford degree, but it was something he was proud of. 

Eileen and Dean were especially proud of him, hanging Dean’s handmade banner in the front foyer and celebrating with a homemade cake the day he picked up his diploma. Dean would brag for weeks afterwards that his father was a big time lawyer to anyone who would listen, leaving Sam to clarify that he worked as a public defender, and no, that didn’t mean he could get them out of their speeding ticket. Eventually the novelty wore off, but Sam kept the banner tucked safely away in his private storage box out in the garage next to Dean’s old handgun, carefully wrapped in his threadbare hunting jacket. 

The years wore on. Dean flourished well in and out of school, slowly growing into his awkward teen phase and waiting for his voice to drop so he could finally join Aunty Claire and the other Wayward Sisters on one of their “beginner” hunts. Eileen, in turn, began turning down opportunities to hunt one by one until eventually people stopped asking altogether. Sam’s job paid well and he fought well, earning him a reputation in and out of the community as the guy to go to if you ever found yourself in a spot of trouble with the law. He even extended his contact information to hunters that drove through, running a legal gig on the side to keep the law off of their backs while they were out there saving the people under it.

It was pretty much everything he had ever wanted.

* * *

Within 10 minutes of the fight, Sam found himself unlocking the creaky backdoor and paying Baby a visit.

The old girl was retired, same as Sam, and had been relocated to the detached garage for quite a few years. As much as he had tried to keep up with her maintenance and care, he didn’t have his brother’s mechanical touch. The golden rays of the afternoon sun streamed through the cracked window panes and settled softly over her glossy black hood. Sam rarely took her out for a leisurely drive, but he adamantly refused to let her rust away under his watch or sell her to someone else. He unlatched the car door, disrupting the thin layer of dust on the floor as he awkwardly shuffled his tall and stiff body through the door frame, groaning uncomfortably when his trick knee decided to act up.

Finally seated, he slowly reached out to grip the steering wheel in front of him. The leather was worn and stiff under his hands, the edges digging into his palms as his grip tightened.

Trying to regain control of his inner turmoil. Trying to keep himself from falling apart.

He replays the fight in his head in intense, vivid flashes.

_Standing in the sunny kitchen with his son, arguing about letting Dean go off on a case on his own._

_Dean, now a young man with a few successful group hunts under his belt, tired of all the babying, of being handled with the kid gloves. Asking to be recognized for the adult he is._

_Asking his own father to treat him like an adult and trust him._

_And then Sam, refusing to acknowledge Dean’s counterarguments, waving off his anger as childish insolence, raising his voice, not listening to what his son was trying to say to him._

_Sam telling Dean, “I know what’s best for you.”_

_Not realizing how much he sounds like John._

_Dean, irate, turning on his heel and pacing back and forth._

_“You can’t keep doing this, dad! Just because Uncle Dean died-”_

_“Don’t you dare bring your uncle into this!”_

_“I am not Uncle Dean! So stop treating me like his stand-in!” he had yelled accusingly, pushing Sam away before storming out of the house._

_Watching his son walk away from him._

_Watching him drive away in anger._

_Not being able to call him back._

_Not giving him a chance to make it right._

_Standing alone in the kitchen, as the warm sunlight streamed against his back._

Because it’s true. Sam is still haunted by the ghost of his guilt.

He keeps imagining the same thing over and over again, wondering what he could have done differently that night. He should have called for help. He could have gotten the kit out of the Impala and patched his brother up long enough for them to get to the nearest hospital. He should have decapitated that vamp sooner before they got a chance to get the jump on Dean.

Should’ve. Could’ve. Would’ve. But never did.

He gripped the steering wheel harder, hearing the leather creak under his hold. It should have been Dean in this car, riding her down the country backroads with a smile. Travelling, hunting, maybe even finally settling down in a nice little cabin with his second dog. Taking Baby to car shows in the summer for the cash prizes, proudly showing her off instead of letting her sit alone in the back of the house. Living a semi-retired life he never thought he could have.

Sam leaned forward until the top of his head was pressed up against his fists and cried silently, letting the tears run like narrow streams down his gaunt face. It was getting harder and harder to distract himself from the absence of his brother’s existence in his life. Of the guilt weighing him down with each passing birthday. He was getting older while Dean was forever gone.

And the worst part was not even knowing if Dean was at peace. After everything, pissing off Heaven and Hell, averting a few pre-planned Apocalypses and ganking enough soldiers on both sides, what had happened to Dean? 

Some nights, when he was left lying awake staring at the ceiling, Sam couldn’t help but imagine the worst case scenario. 

That Dean’s deepest fear had become a reality. That despite all his good deeds, all the lives he saved and the world he had fought to defend, his soul had still been dragged to Hell.

Sure, it was under new management, but even Rowena couldn’t risk her position as the Queen to protect him forever. Eventually, the demons would win. Eventually, Dean Winchester would be put back on the rack to suffer at the hands of the very monsters he fought his whole life against, taunting them with sarcastic one-liners before delivering the killing blow.

All around him are memories of Dean, full of bad jokes, fortune cookie wisdom, and idiotic grins. Sam closed his eyes, letting his mind fill with their moments.

_Playing with fireworks on the 4th of July behind dad’s back._

_Celebrating Christmas together as kids and then as adults, stringing air fresheners onto a tree._

_Singing Bon Jovi’s “Dead or Alive” while driving down the freeway._

_Dean, barging into the barn before he could complete the Demon Trials and saving him from himself._

_Dean, always holding onto the amulet Sam gave him, even after they realized that God himself had abandoned them._

_Dean, coming to his rescue again, and again, and again._

_Dean standing next to him, bloody and broken and beaten by Chuck, hauling his ass back up and never giving in._

“You know, I don’t think Dean would be too happy to see the car like this.”

Sam jumped in his seat, startled to find himself no longer alone in the vehicle. A young man in a white bomber jacket sat with perfect posture in the passenger seat, his hands on his lap, looking around the interior of the Impala with a childlike grin.

“Hello,” he beamed, still doing the same awkward wave he picked up over 20 years ago.

“Jack?”

The boy nodded cheerfully, “It’s good to see you again, Sam.”

Jack hadn’t aged a day, whereas Sam knew he looked older than he felt. No one had understood his desire to grow out his grey hair and not dye it. Even Eileen would gently tease him, calling it his “Old Man Party Town” wig. But Sam just couldn’t find it in himself to cut it.

Besides, he could just see the self-satisfied look on his brother’s face if he ever cut it short. 

Was it petty? Absolutely. He was a Winchester after all.

“It’s...good to see you too Jack. How, um, how have you been?”

“I’m pretty good. Heaven is keeping me very busy, now that it’s under my care. Apparently it takes more than just deciding to change how Heaven runs, so there’s always something to do. Oh, and I’m making angels again! Proper ones this time.” He replies brightly. “I’m trying to do good, building a better place for humans to live in once they’ve done their best down here.”

Sam’s lips twitched into a quick smile. It had been well over 20 years since he had last seen the nephilim he once considered as a son. He was pleased to find that Jack had lost none of his boyish optimism and positive outlook on life. 

“You’ve also done a lot of good down here,” the kid beams at him, his expression so warm and bright, “just like I knew you would.”

“I, uh,” he fumbled, “I’m sure it’s not as impressive as the stuff you’re doing.”

“Hmm, that’s true. But it’s still important, protecting people.”

“Oh. Um, I actually stopped hunting, Jack. A while ago.”

“Oh, I know. You became a lawyer, like you told me you wanted to be! It was very nice, what you were doing to help those people when no one else would. They all really appreciated it, you know!”

Sam felt his face heat up and quickly tried to change the subject.

“Jack...why are you here? I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you again kid,” he explained, “but just...why now?”

Jack looked up at Sam with those soft doe eyes of his, “It’s okay Sam. I know what you want to ask. Why I didn’t save Dean.” Sam’s breath caught at the mention of his brother’s name. “I’m truly sorry, but there was nothing I could have done. I told you I was going to be a hands-off God, to keep myself out of the narrative. And to do that...”

The kid looked down at his lap, shoulder slumped forward.

“But you’re happy now with Eileen. With your son. I didn’t want to bring up bad memories, so I stayed away.” Jack responded, his gaze turned downward.

“Hey,” said Sam, reaching over and patting him on the back, his latent Dad instincts kicking in, “it’s not your fault.”

“And it wasn’t your fault either, Sam.” the younger man returned, turning to face his once adoptive father. “I know that you still feel guilty about not being able to help Dean, but you gave him what he needed. You were there for him, beside him until his last day. That was all Dean really wanted. To go out with his brother by his side. Not to die alone and forgotten.”

Sam stared at the kid in wonder and awe, his chest filling up with emotion. Despite himself, he gets choked up and turns away. His adopted-son reaches out his hand and pats his shoulder gently, soft blue eyes watching him mindfully.

"Are you okay?" Jack's voice was laced with concern. Sam cleared his throat.

“Fine. I’m- I’m fine Jack, thank you.” He coughed, sitting up straighter. “So, where is he? I mean, if I’m allowed to ask?” 

The boy closed his eyes, furrowing his brow. “In Heaven, but not in the place where I left him.” Jack responded, his eyebrows still pressed together in concentration.

After a moment Jack’s eyes fluttered open, but his gaze was far away. Sam caught the quick flash of gold around his irises as he spoke.

“In fact, he’s right where he always felt best; on the open road with miles ahead, no obligations, clear skies, a cool breeze running through his hair, with ‘good’ music blasting on the radio. Free and...at peace. And one day,” he promises with a charming smile, “you’ll be together again. Because that’s what heaven really is, right? The way that humans imagine it? Being with the people you love.” 

There was a note of encouragement in his eyes, the way they were warm and soft and honest. Once again, Sam couldn’t help but stare at the kid in awe.

Was Jack always this wise when he was living with them? Or was this a by-product of becoming the new God?

“Jack, I-”

Sam woke with a jolt, finding himself slumped over the steering wheel. He accidentally sets off the horn trying to sit up, giving himself another rude jumpscare. After getting his heart rate down to a steady pace, he realized that the passenger seat was empty. Cautiously, he poked his head out of the vehicle, looking around the disused space of the garage. The sunlight was streaming through the window at a much lower angle than what he remembered, casting the room in the deep glow of late afternoon.

He had fallen asleep at the wheel and dreamt of Jack’s visit.

Or the kid had finally found a loophole in his whole “hands-off” rule. Sam grinned.

The weight he had walked in with had lifted from his shoulders. Granted, he still had to make things right with his son, assuming he decided to come back at all. He was stubborn, but Dean wasn’t as brash as his father had been at his age. He would be back, and this time Sam would actually try to listen. 

As he got out, a smirk was playing at the corner of his lips. He stared down at the Impala, sitting innocuously underneath the warm sunlight. He gently rapped her hood with his knuckles and made his way towards the house with a lighter stride, his eyes shining and Jack’s promise playing over and over in his mind.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Sam Winchester felt a spark of hope.

* * *

An old man laid back in his bed, listening to the machines beep and whirl around his head. The air was stale with the scent of hospital-grade disinfectant. Above him, hanging on the hospice walls, are the smiling faces of his family looking down on him, keeping him company. 

The old man tried tirelessly to keep his eyes open and focused on the door to his room, but his mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be. He often finds his eyes wandering around the room, taking it all in; there on the shelf was his collection of spellbooks from the redhead witch, useless now to him, and next to them sat a little green plastic soldier rescued at long last from the Impala’s ashtray. After that came the diploma above the dresser, with grainy snapshots jammed into the corner of the mirror. Cards, books and letters from old friends long gone. Memories, all of them. He would do this until he remembered that he was supposed to be watching the door, turning his blinking gaze back to the door once more. 

_Everything takes effort to do these days_ , he grumbled to himself. He remembered a time when he would run a mile in the morning, each morning, just for the energy. Now his breaths have become shallow and wheezing, his leg muscles worn down to almost nothing.

Sam Winchester doesn’t need to see the Reaper waiting patiently near his bedside to know that his time is almost up.

Eileen had passed on a couple years previously in her sleep. Both of her boys had taken her sudden death hard, but Sam’s paranoia had wobbled up and down during his advancing years to the point where he begged his son to look into his mother’s death, fearing it was the consequence of an old foe finally enacting revenge. Unsurprisingly to Dean, there had been no proof of any underhanded supernatural dealings. 

As hard as it was, Sam had to accept that Eileen’s second chance had come to a long end.

They had agreed to cremate her instead of a burial service with a headstone. A proper and legal hunter’s funeral. The same thing that awaited him.

It had been hard learning how to live without her after 30-odd years of marriage. At first it was just lonely, even with Dean stopping by to check in on him. But soon he found his mind wandering, forgetting simple things like the day of the week and where he left his blasted glasses. Without his wife around to challenge him, his mind was becoming dull. It wasn’t long after that he was moved into the hospice, surrounded by worn and withered souls like him, making the best of the time they had left. 

The door opened and drew his attention, reminding him that he had been waiting for someone.

Dean walks into the room alone, gently closing the door behind him. Sam tried to follow him with his eyes, his son blinking in and out of focus as he sat himself on the edge of his bed, sighing deeply.

He felt his son’s warm hand envelop his frail one. Once upon a time, this hand had reached out to him from the depths of his simple white crib, a tiny pink thing barely strong enough to grasp his finger.

Now he barely had the strength to give his son’s hand a returning squeeze.

When did Dean become so big? Or was it that Sam himself had become small?

Sam wheezed out a breath of air trying to look up at his son and had to stifle a small cough for his efforts.

“Dad?”

He looked up, trying again to focus his failing eyes on his son’s face.

“It’s okay. You can go now.”

_‘You can go now, Dean.’_

_He remembers that night in the barn, a lifetime ago now. Dean reaching out to him with fear dancing in his eyes, giving in to his fate, accepting the end, pulling Sam close and telling him how proud he was of him through tears of pain and sorrow._

_His hero, his protector, his older brother...asking him to let him go._

Sam tears up, swallowing down his sobs. He hadn’t cried since Eileen died. He didn’t want his son’s last memory of him to be one of sadness.

He smiled at Dean instead, proud of the man Dean had become. Proud of the life Dean had lead, of the things he accomplished, and the time they had shared on Earth. 

But more than anything, Sam was proud of himself for not letting Dean down.

He was ready to let go. He had been for quite some time.

With the last dregs of sheer will, he covers his son's hand with his own, giving it a comforting pat. He sighed deeply and settled back into soft pillows, feeling his exhausted body melt right through them.

Sam Winchester closed his eyes for the last time…

...and opens them to find himself standing on an open bridge across from his older brother.

His breath caught in his throat. From the back, his brother looked exactly like he had 40 years ago. Worn jeans, a tattered trucker jacket, and dirty combat boots. But here, casually leaning against the railing, Dean seemed more relaxed than Sam had ever seen him alive.

He was nervous. Extremely, unexpectedly, nervous.

He was seeing Dean for the first time in ages and the actuality of the moment, for some strange reason, was scary. Maybe it was the suddenness that threw him off. Moments ago he was lying on his deathbed, ready to meet Dean again in the afterlife. Now Dean was here, apparently waiting for him. 

The truth was, Sam hadn’t known what to expect. He thought he had been ready to face his brother without guilt holding him back, but now he was second-guessing himself.

Before he could muster the courage to call out to him, he heard his brother’s low voice call out over his shoulder like a long-forgotten dream. 

“Hey, Sammy.”

Dean moved to face him. Sam braced himself for the emotional impact. 

Yet it is Dean's smile that catches Sam off guard. No pictures or memory could really capture Dean’s warm, smiling face like the one he was seeing right now. Dean looked good; cleaned up, standing tall, a spot of grey touching his temples, but free of pain, of guilt, no longer carrying the weight of his past around him like a cursed albatross. 

He wonders how his brother sees him here. As the thirty year old brother he left behind or the old man he grew to be?

“Dean.”

The two men size each other up, taking in the moment before Dean pulls him into a long awaited embrace. Sam’s arms squeezes him tightly to his chest and he hears his brother let out an unsteady laugh that catches at the end. He felt comforting warmth seep into him. 

_Everything was alright, it was all real, Dean was here, there was nothing to regret anymore._

It felt like an apology, one that was undeserved but one he was grateful for all the same.

His brother gives him a rough pat on the back, holding him close before breaking away. A weight lifts off of Sam as they break the hug. 

It was like nothing had changed between them, and yet everything was different.

Sam and Dean, the great Winchester brothers, finally together again. 

**Finally at peace.**


	2. Wayward Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of my finale fix it. Even though this chapter deals with a little more speculation and less with actual scene's from the episode, there were still many issues that were left unresolved. 
> 
> So here we are, one month after the finale, tying up loose ends.
> 
> Because Dean Winchester deserved closure.  
> Because 15 years of character development shouldn't be erased or overlooked.  
> Because Castiel deserved to be more than just a footnote in the story of "two brothers who save the world".  
> Because these two idiots deserve to be honest with each other.  
> Because that's what Heaven 2.0 is meant to be; a place of reconciliation, where you can (finally) be with the people you love. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

As it turns out, Heaven 2.0 was really just one very long reunion party.

In almost no time at all, the brothers found Eileen waiting outside the Roadhouse, looking just how Dean remembered her. His baby brother rushed to his wife and effortlessly swept the smaller woman off her feet, eliciting silvery laughter from Eileen as he swung her around in a full circle. Dean smiled as he watched the reunited couple talk in hushed tones from inside of Baby. 

Eileen cradled Sam’s face with her small hands as she babbled, apologizing for leaving him behind, for not saying goodbye, for not being able to tell him how much he meant to her. Sam listens, soaking in her voice, her soft touch, pressing their foreheads together and promising her it was all okay, they were together again, that she wasn’t getting rid of him that easily. She laughed in their kiss, hiccupping once as tears began to overwhelm her. Sam kissed her again and again, wiping away her tears with giant, tender hands and soothing words, holding her close. Eileen soon closes her eyes and leans into his enveloping hug, rejoicing privately that this hadn’t been taken from them. They held each other for a long, blissful moment as though nothing else in heaven existed but the two of them.

Dean felt a pull at his heart watching them from afar.

He cleared his throat as he approached, giving them ample time to disentangle themselves before wrapping Eileen in a broad hug of his own. 

“It’s good to see you,” he says, pulling back with a smile. “Now, what’s this I hear about you naming your kid after me? How’d you manage to let Sammy talk you into that one?”

“Dean,” said Sam, already giving his brother an exasperated look. He clapped his brother on the shoulder and led them into the Roadhouse, half listening to Dean’s rambling questions to Eileen and cockily asking if his nephew had been able to live up to his namesake.

* * *

The Roadhouse looked exactly as he had remembered it; the shaded interior, the muted colours of the well stocked bar against the dark oak tabletop, the rough paintwork, the din of rock music playing from the jukebox. 

Dean hadn’t realized just how much he had missed the familiarity of the old Harvelle place.

Between catching up with the Harvelle women and meeting Bill Harvelle for the first time, sharing a few beers with Ash (who loudly lamented that his daring acts of hacking Heaven’s system had all been for naught now that the place was open to everyone), the brothers didn’t get a moment to themselves. Old hunters as well as people they knew came up to say hi, slapping Dean on the back and asking if the boys were finally settling in or if they were just dropping by for a visit.

It felt nice, comfortable even, to fall back into a semblance of their earlier life. Occasionally he glanced at the familiar crowd around him, at Jo’s appraising glances towards him, at Sam and Eileen sitting comfortably in the booth like they had always belonged, and then at his feet.

It was freaking fantastic, but something felt _off_.

At some point they made it to John and Mary’s place over the ridge, and the tearful reunion started all over again. John took an immediate liking to Eileen, listening as she regaled them with tales of her hunts. Sam, on his part, proudly told them of the people he helped with his practice, including a rather nasty case against a hunter who got caught in the middle of a homicide investigation. 

Dean watched all of this from the sidelines like a man entering a dream. It felt like a repeat of the time when Dean had accidentally pulled John out of the past and rewrote the world’s history just for one precious dinner together. Except this time there were no damned consequences, no freaking time paradoxes, and especially no douchebag angels out for their asses.

Now, they could actually be the family they never could be on Earth.

Mary catches him staring and excuses herself from the trio, offering to refill their drinks. She stops by Dean on her way to the kitchen, turning to watch their little family adamantly chatter away.

“I like her.” She comments matter-of-factly, “She’s good for Sam.”

Dean grunted affirmatively. They stood together in a comfortable silence, appreciating the reality of the moment.

Dean turns his head to face his mother. He notes the relaxed way she holds herself, the easy smile that graces her face, her whole demeanor softened by John’s love. It made her look younger and beautiful.

He licked his lips nervously. “I need to apologize.”

“For what?” she asks, taken aback.

“For the way I acted when you were alive. I, uh, realize that I put you on a high pedestal, that I had all these expectations that I put on your shoulders...I didn’t take enough time to appreciate that you were more than just ‘Mom’. You had your own problems and issues that didn’t involve me. 

“And when you died...I just saw red. I let my anger take over. You were your own person with your own choices, and it wasn’t fair to honour your memory like that. I shouldn’t have used your death as an excuse to justify my anger.”

“Dean…” she said, cupping the side of his face and looking into his downcast eyes, “you are my son. You never, ever need to apologize to me for caring too much.”

Dean snorts in disbelief, but doesn’t argue, turning his attention back to the others.

“Everyone seems to be happy up here. Looks like the kid really did a good job with the place.”

“He did,” she hums in agreement. “Jack has been doing his best to make this a place worth living for. And Castiel’s been stopping by to say hello, making sure everyone’s settling in well.” She added, side-eyeing Dean.

“Yeah? That sounds like him,” he replies evenly, swallowing a sip of beer carefully. “Trying to make the world a better place for the people he cares about.”

Mary presses her lips together, but doesn’t say anything.

“Truth is, a part of me keeps expecting the other shoe to drop. That all this,” he waves his arm in a broad, sweeping motion, feeling the beer slosh around in his hand, “is nothing more than a really good dream.”

“Don’t worry,” she tells him, kissing his cheek before heading to the kitchen, “we’re not going anywhere, Dean.”

* * *

Hours later, after they had said their goodbyes to John and Mary, Dean had helped Sam and Eileen settle into their new home which, according to Eileen, was a near exact replica of the house they bought together. It was...well, it was perfect. 

Because come on, his brother had literally lived a all-american apple pie life without him. Just like Sammy had always wanted. He probably could have been happier for his brother if his mind didn’t keep reminding him that it was all possible because Dean had stepped out of the picture.

Their simple two-story house looked warm and inviting with its huge living room, starring a couple of soft brown leather sofas facing an enormous TV screen mounted on the wall. Dean spent far too long admiring their spacious modern style kitchen, with its double oven and gas range stove. Oh man, he had some plans for the next time he came to visit. Maybe pop by some late afternoon, take over their kitchen, cook some real burgers and a pie. Assuming they could eat in Heaven...

Not to mention that their place had a side garage and a freaking front porch looking out to the west. Hell, they even had an honest-to-God white picket fence surrounding the front yard. Dean tried to keep his wisecrack opinion about that one to himself. 

Because when it really came down to it, Dean was proud of his little brother for pulling off the impossible. For moving up in the world and living out his life on his own terms. He had it made here...and sure, there had been moments when the pleasant high turned into sour bitterness, but it was never more than that; a spark of envy. He wouldn’t beguile his brother for moving on. That wasn’t who Dean was anymore. After everything they had been through, Sammy had earned the life he built without him.

Which was why Dean knew it was time for him to take a step back after tonight. 

Not entirely of course. Someone still had to keep Sammy from making stupid decisions, and he couldn’t expect Eileen to shoulder that burden for the rest of eternity alone. But Dean understood. Sam wasn’t his responsibility any more. There was no need for Dean to linger around like a mother hen.

Dean darted a glance at Sam, wondering if his brother had thought the same thing.

The boys stood outside on Sam’s new porch, each with a beer in hand and watched the still blue sky, clouds being dusted in gentle pinks and purples. Dean’s eyes held steady on the horizon, face aglow with the warm rays of the setting sun. He was finally getting around to telling Sam about his meeting with Bobby, how Jack had sprung him from Heaven’s lock-up and made things right up here.

Dean’s lips bore the semblance of an easy smile, enjoying the prospect of having more quiet moments like these with his brother somewhere down the line. 

“So wait, Cas isn’t gone?” Sam asks abruptly, pulling Dean out of his thoughts, “Then why didn’t he try to reach out to us on Earth? Let us know he was okay?”

Dean grunted, lightly pondering his brother’s question in his head until he realized that Sammy was expecting an actual answer.

He shook his head.

“Couldn’t tell you, man. Maybe he needed some space? Maybe Jack has him so tied up and busy running Heaven 2.0 that he hasn’t had time for niceties. All I know is that the guy made it out of Angel Superhell without us.”

“Still, it’s weird though that he hasn’t called, you know? It’s almost like he’s, I don’t know, waiting or something…”

“Yeah, but waiting for what?”

The shorter Winchester regards his brother for a moment, practically hearing the gears turning in Sam’s head as his nerdy little brother tries to come up with a logical explanation. Because, c’mon, it was weird for Cas not to reach out to them already. Maybe Cas was overwhelmed with his new responsibilities like Dean had suggested, but the whole thing just seemed off to him. Even when Cas was fighting a civil war against Raphael, he still found the time to answer the Winchesters’ calls when they needed him. Hell, he was hexed by Rowena and hunted down by rogue angels, and still the idiot had called to make sure that Dean was okay.

Dean looks away from Sam, taking a swig of his beer. He feels a pull at his heart, the same one he’s been feeling all day when he thought about the angel. Ever since hearing Cas’ confession, Dean couldn’t stop interpreting all of Cas’ past actions and sacrifices for what they actually were. Always putting himself in harm's way to protect Dean, always showing up by his side when he needed it most, always willing to bleed, fight and follow him to their certain death. Even when Dean pushed him away. 

Dean chuckled to himself. A “profound bond”, Cas had called it. It wasn’t as though Dean had been blind to what Cas had done for them, he just hadn’t known what he was looking at exactly.

Because Cas, for some reason beyond Dean’s understanding, had decided to love his dumb ass.

But now, radio silence. It was almost as if-

“Ah.”

Sam snorts, finally making the connection. “Us.”

Dean looks at Sam in confusion, getting annoyed when his younger brother chuckles at his ignorance. 

“Think about it, Dean. We keep expecting Cas to be the one to reach out to us, but when was the last time we called him just to see how he was doing and not because we needed his help?” He shakes his head, taking a sip of beer, “And the thing is, we got so used to it that we just came to expect him to make contact first. So maybe it’s our turn, you know? We need to make an effort as well if we want to keep him in our lives.”

Sam turns his head to look at Dean, the unspoken implication of his words hanging between them in silence. Dean frowns and casts his eyes to the ground, going over Sam’s words. Dean could feel his brother watching him expectantly as he tried to figure out what the jerk was getting at. Of course they wanted Cas back in their lives, he was family, the dude had literally sacrificed himself to-

_Ah._

“Son of a bitch.”

* * *

Once the sun was cresting the hills, Dean decided it was time for him to finally hit the road. His brother had offered to let him stay with them until he got his bearings, but Dean waved him off, saying something about not wanting to get in the way of Sam and Eileen’s much needed “reunion time”. He laughed at Sam’s scandalized expression and quickly made his exit before his brother could retaliate. He manages to shout a brief goodbye to Eileen before the screen door closes behind him.

He makes his way to the Impala feeling rather spent. It was the end of what felt like a long day. He blinks as his eyes adjust, taking a last look at the sunset casting long shadows behind him. 

The end of his first day in the afterlife. 

Dean absently wonders how long nights lasted in Heaven 2.0.

He slides into the driver’s seat of the Impala in a familiar move, but stops himself before closing the door. The cool evening air brushes against his face, the door creaking softly against the gentle breeze.

For the first time ever, Dean Winchester was on his own, with no directions, no orders, and no purpose. He was finally a free man with free will, exactly what he had fought for...except now he wasn’t sure what to do with all of it.

He got what he wanted, and for some godforsaken reason that just wasn't sitting well with Dean. 

Dean fiddled absentmindedly with the keys, flipping them over in his hands, enjoying the distracting jingling. 

He remembers when he first woke up in Heaven 2.0, the feeling of his stomach unclenching when it became obvious that he hadn’t taken the elevator downstairs like he feared. Granted, he hadn’t been sure where he ended up, but it sure as hell wasn’t...well, Hell. The place looked like Earth, smelled like Earth, but felt...neater. Like someone had decided to accurately recreate the world but the paint was still drying. He couldn’t explain it any better than that.

Then there had been Bobby, their Bobby, waiting for him like freaking Obi-Wan Kenobi. Telling him how the place worked, how the...love and memories kept it real, that the kid pulled some serious muscle to make the place more than just a retirement home for your golden years. That Cas had a hand in it too.

No more monsters, no more pain, no more dancing for Fate or God or anyone else like a puppet on a wire. Just peace.

 _“It’s the Heaven you deserve.”_

For the first time in Dean’s...life, he guessed, he had no idea what he wanted to do.

So he decided to take Baby for a drive. It had always given him some peace of mind before. When Sammy left for school, when John went missing and wouldn’t answer his calls, when he found out that he and Sam were cosmic chess pieces supposed to bring about the end of the world, when he got out of Purgatory and failed Cas, when Sam found out that Dean had gone behind his back to let Gadreel in his head, when Mary came back into their lives, and then when she was taken from them again.

Who needs therapy when you have a sweet ride to take you away from the things you want to avoid?

So when Dean eventually found Sam on the bridge, things started falling into place. He found order in finding his family. In old friends and comforting smiles. He had even reconciled some old grudges and mistakes.

He had gotten closure with everyone.

Well, _almost_ everyone. Dean clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead through the windshield.

He had even found his peace in being dead, although he couldn’t get over _how_ he had died. Dean Winchester, the guy who killed Hitler and took on God himself, killed in a freak accident because some asshole Vamp-mimes running a second-rate kidnapping scheme couldn’t keep their hideout barn up to code. Sam would be poking fun at that one for years to come. 

And now, he was back to where he started. His family was here, he had his brother back in his life, and Eileen was a nice bonus. He was honestly glad that Sam hadn’t scared her off and married some faceless sweetheart. And depending on how time ran up here, he could be meeting his nephew soon. Maybe even the rest of Sammy’s legacy eventually. Family reunions were gonna be hell to plan.

Dean had them in his life...but they didn’t _need_ him in theirs. 

John and Mary, they had each other to look after now, to make up for all the time one family dinner couldn’t cover. Bobby no doubt had his wife to go back to, assuming that the kid hadn’t appointed him as Heaven’s greeter like some underpaid employee standing around awkwardly in the Walmart entrances. He hadn’t seen Jack, which was a bit of a letdown honestly. He practically helped raise the kid for three years and he couldn’t even get a “hello”? 

And Sam...well, Sammy no longer needed him. He hadn’t for a long time. His kid brother had his own family outside of Dean, one he shared more than half of his lifespan with. And he was happy for them, of course he was. He was freakin’ thrilled that they could all share this place, this Heaven, together. Not as memories, but as people.

So why did this _happiness_ still feel lonely?

Sam had already given up so much for Dean when they were alive. He knew, even when Sam kept it from him, how many damned times his brother had chosen him over and over again instead of the normal life he’d dreamed about as a kid. 

Dean started to squint as the dimness began to slowly cover him, the fading sunlight glinting orange and pale gold off the jagged metal keys in his hand. 

It would be so easy to jam the keys in the ignition, get Baby up and running and just leave. No plans or purposes or direction, just to keep on driving to his heart's content like he usually did. This Heaven had to be vast and teeming with life, full of places he had yet to explore. He could probably ride for miles and miles, leaving it all behind, and still be back in time for Sunday brunch with his folks.

But then what? When the ride was over and the journey ended, what did he have waiting for him at the end? Where was his _peace_ when he was done?

Dean laughed to himself; here he was, an unattached drifter who finally wanted to settle down somewhere to call his own. 

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t so gung-ho about his “drive off into the sunset” plan.

He was, metaphorically speaking, at a crossroads. It was time for Dean to stop choosing Sam every single time, and to finally move on from his reliance on his family. And ironically enough, he’d run out of time to do it.

_Figures._

And yet...

_“-everyone you know, everyone you love...everyone except me.”_

He slides the key into the ignition slot, but doesn’t turn it.

Dean knows he has a choice to make here. It's not something he wanted to do yet, he’s not even sure what the hell he wants to say to the guy, but he knows he needs to deal with it sooner than later. Especially now that Sam had gotten it in his head that the certain angel he’s been trying to cut some slack by avoiding may, in fact, be doing the exact same thing to him. 

Before he goes riding off into the sunset in a blaze of glory, he needs to clear the air with him and make things right.

Well, unless he had already screwed the pooch with that end.

He takes a deep breath to steady his nerves.

“Cas?” he calls out quietly, “You got your ears on you?”

He strains to listen for the swift clap of wings cutting through the air, but only the cool evening breeze greets him. Dean licks his lips nervously.

“I don’t whether this praying stuff still works, seeing that it’s heaven and all…but you, ah, didn’t leave me a forwarding number to call you, so this is all I got.”

Again, he waits patiently for the familiar sounds of the angel’s approach: the rustle of his ever so slightly too large trench coat and the crunch of gravel beneath his polished shoes walking towards Dean in a stride he had grown accustomed to. He shifts uncomfortably in the seat as the silence drags on, debating whether or not to continue.

“Look, I’m not good at this kind of stuff. You probably know that better than anyone. But I know when the ball’s in my court and now it’s up to me to do the talking. So…I’m gonna talk, and I’m gonna hope that you’re still listening. ‘Cause I need you to know that I’m not mad, okay? About going incognito, or staying in heaven, or sacrificing yourself back in the Bunker. Which was a total dick move, by the way.” He adds, furrowing his brows as he looks skyward. “You don’t just get to drop a truth bomb like that on a guy and then vanish.”

He bows his head, remembering the days following their final stand against Chuck. There had been moments where Dean had let his anger get the better of him, where he had called Cas everything short of a coward for leaving Dean to deal with the aftermath of his confession alone. To re-evaluate everything he thought he had known about the angel. For leaving his life with an empty, Cas-shaped-hole and no hints on how to fix it. 

It was easier to shift the blame rather than deal with what was really eating him inside. 

“You left, but you didn’t give me a chance to stop you this time.” He gritted out. “And I couldn’t handle that. But I’m not really mad at you Cas, and I-I need you to understand that. I want you to know that it’s okay. That _we’re_ okay.”

His voice trails off, listening to the sound of wind dancing through the flush trees. The world around him is calm, but sitting inside the car, Dean feels like he’s in the eye of a storm, threatening to sweep him away at the slightest slip up. He sniffles sharply; tears stinging his eyes but he stubbornly refuses to let them fall.

“You always stood by me, even when I was in the wrong, even though I didn’t always show you the same respect. And I’m sorry,” he breathed, casting his eyes warily about. “I’m so sorry you felt that you couldn’t be honest with me about something so goddamn important. I’m sorry that...that I-I made you think you had to hide how you felt, just ‘cause I wasn’t equipped to handle the truth. ” 

His right hand gripped the soft, worn leather of the steering wheel in a vise and clenched his other hand into a fist. Dean could feel himself hovering at a threshold of something unspoken between them. Like a one-way trip off a cliff without a parachute. He knew if he kept going down this path, there would be no turning back. 

But Cas. Cas had already crossed over the point of no return, and walked on ahead. It was up to Dean to close the gap between them. To give them both some closure.

He took in a deep breath to steady his nerves. Dammit, how had Cas mustered the courage to speak from his heart like that?

 _Facing your imminent death certainly makes things easier to say when you know you won’t have to face the consequences._ A malicious thought justified. He shook his head to clear his mind.

“I know I reacted poorly. I- fuck, I practically told you to take it back ‘cause _I_ wasn’t prepared to deal with your feelings. Or what acknowledging those feelings would mean. For me.” He clarifies, clearing his throat before continuing, “Because if I did, I’d have no choice but admit that I cared about you in a way that guy friends just...don’t do. In a way I didn’t think you could feel. And I couldn’t deal with that knowing you were saying goodbye.”

He sniffs, quickly wiping his eyes. 

“I don’t even know when or how the hell it started, you know that? 12 years and it all just kinda blurs together. All I know is that at some point, losing you was like having a part of me removed,” he confessed. “And every time you died and I couldn’t save you, there was just this...bigger part that got taken out too. And it was too much, it was just too much to handle.”

He grins sadly. “But you would come back to us every time, and when you did, it... it felt like I could breathe again. I should’ve appreciated you more man.”

Dean ran a hand through his cropped hair with a shaky breath. With everything he’d said, it felt like a weight slowly lifting off his chest. A tightly-closed bottle finally opening up. Yet he still lacked a sense of fulfillment. He tried not to linger on why.

“You said I changed you Cas…but you don’t even know how much you helped me be a better man. And I-I wish you had the chance to hear it from me before. You deserved to have your feelings acknowledged. You still do.” He muttered, his shoulders sinking slightly. “I just hope you’ll still give it to me when you’re ready. ‘Cause this Heaven? It’s peachy. But it’s not complete without you, Cas.”

A gust of wind comes in, tousling Dean’s hair. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the pounding deep in his chest. Dean’s hand was still clenching onto the steering wheel like a tether. He didn’t understand how the religious folk did this all the time; just spilled their guts not knowing whether the person on the other end was even listening. All they had was the hope that they were heard, forgiven, and understood. 

And now, he was one of them. 

The idea left an odd taste in his mouth. He grumbled to himself and closed Baby’s door shut, settling back into the driver’s seat. _Whatever_ , he thought. He had said his piece and reached out to Cas like Sam had suggested. Ball was back in Cas’ court now. It was up to the angel whether or not he wanted to take one last risk with the emotionally-constipated excuse of a human. 

Just as he twists the key in the ignition, about to rev up Baby’s engine and head out, Dean catches a flicker of motion from his peripheral on the left. He instinctively reaches into the empty pocket that once held his ivory-plated Colt .45. When his eyes discover a familiar tan trench coat outside the car window, Dean freezes, too stunned to move.

Castiel takes a step back and narrowly avoids getting hit by a half ton of metal as Dean hastily flings the car door open. The two stare at each other in silence. Dean’s eyes, wide and red-rimmed, imploringly vulnerable, locked onto Cas’ fixed stare. If it were anyone else he would drop his gaze, but with Cas...for some reason, Dean was always drawn in closer, always wanting more. 

“Hello, Dean.”

And just like that, the spell’s broken. Dean visibly tenses his shoulders, huffing in disbelief. He steps around the car door and closes it behind him with a loud bang. Honestly, he should be happy to see Cas standing in front of him, and yet…

“You…how long were you listening?”

“Since the start.” He admits, avoiding direct eye contact. “I heard every word you said.”

“Oh, so you just let me carry on then? That’s nice, that’s real great…” Dean accuses, dragging his hand over his face before crossing his arms defensively in front of him. Cas shifts his weight from side to side. 

“In my defense, I have found from experience that it is unwise to disrupt you midway through your tirades. I didn’t want to, uh, ‘step on your moment’,” he said, quoting the words with his fingers, “as it were.” 

Dean manages to control his facial expressions and hide the twitch of a smile at Cas’ air quotes and pop culture reference. He didn’t know if he was more relieved or mortified that Cas had heard the whole damn thing.

“So what, you waited until I spilled my guts before deciding whether it was safe to pop back in and say hi?”

The angel hesitated. “I wasn’t sure that my presence would be exactly welcomed, given how we parted ways the last time. I was afraid that seeing me again might give you a change of heart.”

“…really, Cas? Seriously?” he groans, “Did you honestly believe that I cared so little for you that I was gonna throw away over a decade of history, of us, just ‘cause you were honest with me?”

“Well, you did call it a dick move.”

“Th- Because it was! But that’s not the point here.”

“And what is the point?”

“The point is…” he faltered, unsure of why he was getting all defensive. “After everything that we’ve been through, all of it, you still felt like you had to walk on eggshells around me. I think I deserve a little more credit than that, okay?”

“This is different from trusting you to have my back, Dean.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is.” Cas urges without raising his voice. He steps into Dean’s personal space before adding, “And I think you know that.”

Dean licks his bottom lip nervously and resists the urge to take a step back, trying not to look bothered by the sudden closeness. 

“You’re honest with yourself when you think that you’re alone…” He risks a glance at Dean’s face, checking to see if he had stepped out of line. “Jack told me...after I let the Empty take me, how you kept to yourself. That you just bottled it all up, not even admitting to Sam what really happened. I wanted you to be able to get everything out in the open. To allow yourself a chance to be honest. To deal with your emotions...despite your habit of ignoring them.”

“You- okay.” Dean clenched his jaw shut, afraid of what he might say if he didn’t. 

The worst part was that Cas was right. But Dean’s own stupid ego wouldn’t let him admit it out loud.

He turned around and took a couple steps away from the angel, rubbing his eyes and feeling his frustration give way to weariness with a grunt.

So far this was going fan-freakin’-tastic. 

“You’re upset.”

“Yes, I’m frustrated. Stellar observation, Cas.”

Cas sighs heavily. “This wasn’t how I envisioned our reunion.”

“Yeah well, it’s not exactly the happy get-together I had hoped for either.” Dean returned, unable to curb the bitterness in his tone.

“I can leave, if you want.”

“No, that’s not- dammit Cas, stop!” He demanded, turning back and resisting the urge to shake the other man by his shoulders. “Stop with the babying! Stop acting like you need to apologize for being your own person!”

“Dean-”

“Dammit, I’m frustrated, okay, but not with you! I’m annoyed with this, us. Two grown-ass men who can’t even have an honest conversation with each other without it turning into a freakin’ argument!”

Cas stays silent, watching Dean apprehensively as he paces. 

“Do you know what really bothered me after you were gone? It wasn’t that you said...you know, that you ‘love me’, or that you kept your deal with the Empty a secret. Which,” he interjects, pointing at the angel, “we are definitely talking about later. No, what really got to me was that you didn’t think it was something you could have. How the hell could you know, Cas? You never asked!”

“How could I ask, Dean, when you always seemed to brush off any attempt I made to show you how much I cared?” 

“You’re a freakin’ angel! I didn’t even know you _could_ feel the way humans do!”

“Of course I can love. All things created have the potential to experience love,” he countered flatly. “You’re the one who taught me that it wasn’t a weakness like I was raised to believe, but rather a strength.”

“Then why-”

 _Why did you push me away?_ he asked silently, unable to say the words.

“Because I didn’t believe that you felt the same way about me.”

“Well, you should’ve!”

“How, Dean?” Cas retorted, clenching his fists. “You gave me nothing of significance to work with. Not a single sign or indication that you have ever considered me to be more than a friend. You barely allowed yourself to look at other men in a way that could be considered flirtatious. What, was I supposed to read between the lines all this time? ”

Dean clenches and unclenches his hands into fists too. “Cas-”

“Not to mention that you are stubborn to the point of stupidity. I’m not a mind reader, Dean, and even if I was, you would have issues about me ‘getting in your head’. It’s hard enough trying to navigate your temper whenever you feel the need to defend your own ego-” But there he stopped, suddenly, as if remembering what the argument was really about. Cas takes another steadying breath, and continues. “You are by far, the most frustrating human I have ever known. And I...I didn’t want to lose you,” he adds, in a small voice. 

Dean freezes.

“What?”

“When it became obvious to me what my attraction to you was, and how very unlikely it was to be reciprocated, I...accepted it.” He shrugs lamely, “I kept it to myself. I didn’t want my feelings to get in the way of what we had. Because being able to fight beside you as your friend was already enough.”

“So you just...gave up? Just like that? And so, what? You don’t think you deserve to be loved?” Dean asked, tone sharp.

Castiel didn’t respond, but his lively attitude from moments ago had suddenly lost what little vigor it had. His shoulders slumped and his eyes cast down mournfully, averting his gaze. 

Dean felt a sudden coldness fill his core.

_Son of a bitch._

“Cas-”

“Nearly every choice I have made, every decision, I did it for you and your happiness,” Cas admitted steadily before Dean could continue. The dying light played across his face, shrouding him in shadows. After a moment, he turned back to face Dean, locking eyes with the hunter and determined to lay it all out. “I made a decision to sacrifice myself to save you without giving you a say in the matter. And in doing so I…also made a declaration that you weren’t prepared to receive.” His arms hung heavy at his sides, “I’m sorry, Dean, it wasn’t a burden I meant to leave you.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, “Yeah well, it wasn’t just your burden to carry, Cas.”

Cas’ blue eyes stare up at him imploringly, smiling sadly as if to say _‘But it was.’_

“I never asked you to do any of that for me.” Dean amended sternly.

“You didn’t need to ask, that was the point.”

Dean felt the death grip around his heart squeeze experimentally. 

“Well, I’m sorry it was all for nothing. Looks like I was always meant to cash in early, huh?” he jokes, his tone flat and bleak.

“Dean,” Cas sighs, instinctively reaching out to the hunter, “after all this time, after everything I said to you, do you really still believe that this was the ending you deserved?”

Dean feels Cas’ grip on his bicep through the thick material of the jacket. His skin tingles under the angel’s touch, though whether from Cas’ newly restored angelic mojo or because of the familiarity of the gesture, Dean doesn’t know. He glances down and is surprised to find Cas’ broad hand no longer appears to be calloused. Taking him in for the first time, Dean notices that everything about Cas looks the same, but…cleaner. Fresher. His face appears less worn down, the bags under his eyes that he acquired throughout his years accompanying the Winchesters have lessened, and even the bit of scruff in his appearance looks deliberate. 

He swallows thickly, looking back into Cas’ eyes. They were exactly as he remembered them…open pools of calming blue. But right now, they were different - full of selfless affection rather than the piercing and serious gaze they always held. 

Fuck. He had really missed Cas.

“It’s true that I had hoped you would be able to live a longer life than you did; one where you could see your worth beyond hunting, full of people who cared about you and a family to look after…” 

Even if he wasn’t looking the angel in the eyes, Dean couldn’t have missed the sad glint in his expression as he brought up family. Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Cas didn’t give him the opportunity. 

“But Dean, right now there are millions of souls on Earth, people caring and helping each other navigate life the best they can. They continue to exist because you and Sam refused to give in to oppression. And you taught that to Jack, who saw the best in humanity by watching you lead. Because of you, humans are free to live out the rest of their lives under a God who doesn’t need their constant validation. So no, I don’t think it was ‘all for nothing’,” Cas wiggles his fingers into air quotes, “as you like to suggest.”

Dean closed his mouth, biting back his sarcastic retort. Truth be told, Dean didn’t know what to believe. For nearly his entire life, living as a hunter was all he had ever known. All he had ever really been good at. 

Except here was Cas, a celestial being beyond time and understanding, once again telling him that he was _more_. 

Dean straightened himself, squaring his shoulders. He wanted to believe him, but it was hard to bypass decades’ worth of shitty mental conditioning. Being the “ideal” son for John Winchester, following orders like a good little soldier boy, and being the man the world demanded of him.

“I tried, Cas. I really did. I even got a contract job outside of hunting, had the papers signed and everything. God,” he mumbled, shaking his head, “I didn’t even get a chance to tell Sam before I left…”

“I know, Dean.” He responded, sounding regretful.

“You know…” he said tightly. “Then what the hell was the point? If I was always meant to die on a hunt from some freak accident, then what was the point of your sacrifice? Of taking out Chuck, tearing up the script and writing our own destinies instead?”

“The point, Dean, was that you tried at all.” He insisted, squeezing Dean’s shoulder in reassurance. “You could have accepted the life you were told to follow until the end of Chuck’s story. To live and die by the hunt like an obedient soldier. That may have been who you started out as, but you are your own person. It just so happened that The Fates have a cruel sense of humor.

“But you tried, you actually listened to what I said, and for once you seemed to take my words to heart. Do you really think so little of yourself that you’d let an unreasonable expectation of who you are make you unhappy?”

Dean felt a painful throb in his chest at the sincerity of Cas’ words. Part of him wanted to quip back in sarcasm, but there was a newer part of him that wanted to desperately believe in the confidence Cas always saw in him for once. It was getting harder and harder to keep his emotions under control, but he couldn’t lose face here. Not now.

“You told me...you said that I wasn’t ‘Daddy’s Blunt Little Instrument.’” Dean looks away, unwilling to meet Cas’ sincere gaze, “I never told that to anyone, not even Sammy.”

“Because it wasn’t true.”

“Yeah okay, sure, but how did you know to say that? Since you’re not a ‘mind reader’ and all.”

“Because I know you, Dean. At least, the person you are at heart. I have always seen you for who you are, and not who Heaven and Hell wanted you to be.”

“You know me…” he parrots, shaking his head, “Cause here’s what I can’t wrap my head around. You say you saw me, everything I am, and you still decided to take your chances on a guy like me? On a human?”

“Yes.”

Dean turns back, lowering his head to meet Cas’ eyes.

“Why?”

“Because you cared,” he answers bluntly, returning the eye contact. “For all your faults, for all of your struggles and resentment, you were always trying to make the world a better place. You are a loyal, caring friend, and anyone who knows you can see it. I should've been just another ‘dick with wings’, but you decided I was worth looking out for. Even when we first met, even though we argued and you defied my orders every opportunity you had, you still came to my aid when I asked for it. I never knew what that felt like until I met you.”

“I gotta say, that’s some shitty family dynamics you grew up with there, Cas.” Dean says, deflecting with humor out of habit.

“Dean.”

“Sorry, you’re right, not the moment.” He amends, shifting uncomfortably under the angel’s scolding gaze. “But I mean, seriously Cas, what the hell do I say to that?”

“You asked.”

“I know I did, but you didn’t- forget it, that’s not the point here,” replies the hunter, trying to pick up the fallen pieces of his dignity. 

“I’ve already told you how I feel about you Dean. That hasn’t changed since I returned to Heaven.” He tells the hunter, his grip sliding down the sleeve of Dean’s dark trucker jacket. “Even if you can only see me as your friend, I will be here beside you. If you still want me around, of course. My days are better with you and Sam in them.”

“You don’t know that.” He deflects. “I just- fuck, Cas, I don’t want you to regret your decision down the line.”

“I have had many regrets in my life, most of which I no longer recall,” he confided, sincerely and confidently, “but loving you, Dean Winchester, has never been one of them.”

The hunter swore under his breath, leaning forward to bury his face into Castiel’s broad shoulder. How the hell could he say such embarrassing things like that with a straight face?

“I don’t deserve it. You know that, right?” he mumbled into Cas’ trenchcoat.

“Dean,” Cas chastised, deliberately embracing the man with his free arm and resting his chin onto Dean’s shoulder, “that’s not your decision to make.”

Dean doesn’t react immediately, his mind trying and failing to come up with a witty comeback. He lifts his head away, gripping Cas by the shoulders and pulling back to examine the man in front of him, finding nothing in Cas’ body language to betray his words. He swallows the dry lump forming in his throat. 

“Cas, I uh, I owe you an answer. A proper one.” He coughs slightly, trying to ignore the tingling heat rising to his ears. “I know- I know I said that you didn’t give me an opportunity to answer you, but we both know that’s a cheap excuse…”

“Dean, I understand-” Dean cuts him off with a swift hand gesture and a sharp look.

“Nope, fuck it, this is something I gotta do.” Dean scrunches his face in frustration, the lines of his brow deepening. “I couldn’t say anything when I was alive, and I’ll be damned if I don’t say it when I’m dead.” 

He inhales deeply, squeezing the angel’s shoulders thoughtfully. Cas’ posture stiffens in anticipation under Dean’s touch.

“Cas, I…” he began, unsure how to properly translate the complexity of his feelings into real, actual words. Feeling he had been raised to repress. Feelings that, honestly, still scared the shit outta him.

Dean wanted nothing more than the ability to say those three important words like it was nothing. But even now, standing in front of Cas, he found his big mouth failing him. 

He couldn’t say it. Not yet.

“Me too, Cas.”

He almost immediately looks down, ashamed. The one thing Cas deserved to hear most was the very thing Dean couldn’t say without his tough guy personality getting in the way. The beginnings of his half-assed apology was halted by the soft press of deft fingers on either side of his face and the gravelly low whisper of Cas’ voice.

“I know.” He replies, touching their brows together.

Dean Winchester did _not_ fucking whimper like a lovestruck heroine in those sappy movies Sam liked to watch (that Dean honestly didn’t dislike as much as he protested). “Fuck, Cas…” he mumbles, inhaling deeply. He cradles the tanned wrists framing his face with a cautious touch. “You deserve it. You deserve to hear me say it back.”

Cas closes his eyes and hums silently at the touch, enjoying the sensation as one of Dean’s thumbs faintly brushes over his pulse point. 

“Well, I have been around for a few millennia. I think I can wait another couple decades.”

Dean lets out a choked snort of laughter, grinning widely.

“Asshole.”

“Perhaps,” Cas chuckles lowly, eyes still closed, “but you love me.” 

Dean leans back slowly and lets go of Cas’ hands, his stiff muscles relaxing. He takes a risk and tentatively cups the side of Cas’ jaw, delighting in the way he can make the angel’s breath hitch from the sudden gentle contact, feeling the smooth stubble of his 5’oclock shadow brush against his skin as Cas exhales deeply and leans into his touch like a cat. He chuckles silently to himself, touching his forehead to the angel’s.

Dean marvels at being able to hold Cas like this. This cosmic being beyond his understanding, capable of creating miracles or absolute suffering, was letting Dean affect him. He feels Cas gently grip the short hairs on the back of his neck with one hand and clutch at the front of his jacket with sturdy fingers, settling himself comfortably closer as Dean’s other arm slips down to his waist. 

He’d seen Cas relaxed and unruffled more often than not the past, but this is the first time he’s really seen him like this: eyes closed, breathing deeply, complying wordlessly with Dean’s unspoken requests, the man practically putty in Dean Winchester’s hands, implicitly trusting the hunter. Finally giving in to the yearning. Finally able to act of his own free will. Finally allowing himself to believe this is something he can have.

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever felt so much love in his life as he feels in this moment, and while that thought alarms him, it also fills him with the most heavenly, comforting ease. And when Cas’ eyes flick open in confusion and he tilts his head to the side, concerned with his silence, Dean can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, I do…”

They stood there like that for a long moment, holding each other in the peaceful quiet of twilight. Dean wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he said goodbye to Sam and Eileen. Time felt different up here, just like Bobby said. Seconds like this could feel like a lifetime and still seem too short. 

And now they had all the time in the world. 

And honestly? Dean could get used to that.

All too soon, the moment was over. Cas straightens suddenly, his previously calm demeanor shifting into a pensive one as he pulls himself out of their embrace, appearing rather reluctant to do so.

“I need to get back. Jack is looking for me…I should go and make sure that Naomi hasn’t been trying to talk him into any of her old ideas to reform Heaven.”

Dean’s expression quickly changes from a broad smile to a concerned frown. “Naomi? She’s still got some kicking power around here?”

“Yes, she is still tasked with overviewing the fundamentals that keep Heaven running.” He answered, clearly not thrilled about the development either. “We may have had our differences, but she wants what’s best for Heaven, same as Jack. Same as me. And she’s one of the only original angels left with the most experience running a fully operational simulation large enough to withstand all the souls in Heaven.”

Dean scowled. “I don’t like it.”

“Me neither, but we have to work with what we have. Jack can’t sustain Heaven on his own, and there aren’t enough angels yet to keep the place running without him.” He sighs, a trace of exhaustion slipping through his words. “Even though she has limited, uh, ‘kicking power’ as you said, she still has some influence around here. But I’m keeping a close eye on her. And we have a deal, I suppose. If I help rebuild Heaven, she won’t interfere with your lives again.”

Dean looked skeptical, but decided not to press the matter further.

“Do you need to go?”

“No,” he admits, holding himself straighter, “but I should.”

Dean laughs mirthlessly, straightening Cas’ blue tie. “Yeah, of course you do. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on that kid.”

 _Figures,_ he grumbled to himself, _even in Heaven I can’t catch a freakin’ break..._

Time seemed to slow down once more, as if Dean's brain wanted to remember this moment forever. Every aspect of Cas was notably charming; his sweet blue eyes surrounded by laughter lines, his disheveled-yet-tidy hair, his toothy smile that radiated genuine happiness, his lean hips with that uptight, perky little ass hidden under layers of fabric and that dinky trench coat Dean had grown fond of. Imperfect and rough around the edges, and oftentimes incredibly frustrating to deal with. But still devoted. Still devastatingly handsome. Still Cas. Simple yet all-encompassing, his desire to hold onto the moment settles somewhere deep in his chest as his grip lingers on Cas’ waist, trying to hold onto the angel for just a little longer.

Dean swallows thickly. “But you’ll be back, right?” he asked, feeling pathetic.

“Of course.” He insists with a small, wry smile, “I always come when you call, Dean.”

“Oh? You sure you want to keep that up?” He asks with a playful smirk, “‘Cause I gotta say, having an angel who’s in love with me at my beck and call? Kinda a turn on, Cas.”

Cas rolls his eyes and removes his hand from around Dean’s neck, much to the hunter’s displeasure.

“Dean, I’m being serious. One day soon, we’ll have time to discuss all of this. To pick up the pieces and...make up for lost time. But right now, Heaven still needs me, and I have an obligation to help Jack succeed in bringing about a new period of peace. I owe all of them that much.”

“Yeah, I get that. I do, Cas. I just...I’ll be here waiting for you.” He declares, snaking his arm around Cas’ sides with a wry grin. “Then it’ll just be us. No running Heaven, no hunting, no Naomi or the holy flock of angels. You, me, together. Xena and Gabrielle.”

Cas frowns and tilts his head slightly. “Dean, I don’t think Xena of Amphipolis and Gabrielle-”

“Nope, they were totally married.” He loudly insists, ignoring the skeptical look Cas was sending his way. “No question about it. The world just wasn’t ready to accept it in the 90’s.”

Dean kept smiling. It came easy, like their banter, the jokes and teasing, pretending not to see Cas secretly smile as he realizes Dean compared them to a “married” couple. It was always easy to be himself when they were together.

Dean stumbles ever so slightly at this realization. 

Shit, he really had it bad for his best friend, didn’t he?

Cas starts pulling away reluctantly from his side, mumbling some sort of apology or something about duty that Dean didn’t quite catch. It was almost as if Cas was afraid that if he left, if he stopped being near Dean...everything, all of this, would cease to exist.

Like it was all a Djinn dream that Cas didn’t want to break free from.

“So...I guess I’ll just, what, wait for you to pop back unexpectedly?” he encourages, trying to seem casual as he leans back against Baby. 

“It does appear that way, yes.” He jokes, smiling at Dean apologetically.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to make the most out of this,” he reckoned, looking at the world around him. “Think of it as retirement, maybe go through my bucket list. Assuming I can still do some of them up here...say, you wouldn’t happen to know if this Heaven has any policies on-”

“ _Dean._ ” Cas scowls.

Dean laughs. “Relax, okay? I’m fine,” he pauses, before repeating “I’ll be fine. This is just something I’m gonna have to get used to on my own.”

“We’ll see each other again soon,” Cas replies, a consolation and a promise.

“Of course we will,” Dean chuckled, like it was the most obvious thing ever. “This is Heaven. Paradise forever. Wouldn’t be living up to the name if you weren’t there to watch over me.”

Cas finally has the audacity to look embarrassed.

“Go on, get out of here,” he jokes. “And tell Jack that I expect a visit from him. Just ‘cause he’s calling the shots in Heaven 2.0 or whatever, the kid’s got no excuse ghosting us. Especially Sam.” Cas gives him another one of those soft smiles.

“I’ll see you soon, Dean.” Cas promises with a final nod.

Cas disappears in the blink of an eye, the sound of newly restored wings whooshing through the air with his departure, leaving Dean right where he found him. Dean tries not to focus on being left behind again, because honestly, their lives have always circled and spiraled around each other into one magnetic maelstrom of a mess. Their separation always ended up being temporary in spite of whatever disaster life threw their way. 

Instead, Dean dwells on how Cas’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and the way the wind gently brushes his ruffled hair, knowing that he’ll soon get to run his fingers through those dark locks himself. But most of all, Dean’s secretly eager for the not-so-distant future when he’ll finally find out if Cas’ lips are as pillowy-soft as he’d always assumed.

For the first time in his long, convoluted life, Dean has something good to look forward to.

Dean drums his fingers on Baby’s hood intermittently. With a satisfied nod, he slides into the driver’s seat once more, and finally starts her up, the familiar rumbling of her engine enveloping him like a safety blanket.

He could wait. There would be time for them to make up for all the lost chances and missed opportunities. Right now though, there was a brand new world waiting for him. People to meet, friends to see, the freedom of the open road and a family to welcome him home at the end of it. 

He pops a cassette into the deck as he backs out of Sam and Eileen’s driveway, smiling to himself as he recognizes the opening riff of Rush’s “Fly by Night” playing through Baby’s speakers. The resonant tones of Geddy Lee fills the cab as he drives onto the wide, endless road, while twilight beckons the stars to fill the night sky.

_“Why try? I know why_

_This feeling inside me says it's time I was gone_

_Clear head, new life ahead_

_It's time I was king now, not just one more pawn”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my friend and beta reader bluntrook for helping me get through this colossus writing project. When I started writing, I didn't realize just how massive and important the story was going to be. Her ongoing encouragement, dedicated beta reading and confidence in the story I was trying to tell has meant more to me than I can put into words. 
> 
> And I just wrote over 20k of them to give fans some semblance of peace.


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